


Something Wicked This Way Comes

by LadyIsabelleStark



Series: two brothers, one stiles, and lots of wolves [1]
Category: Supernatural, Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Angst, BAMF Dean, BAMF Sam, BAMF Stiles, Crossover, Crossover Pairings, Derek Has Feelings, Emotional, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Feels, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Hurt, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt Stiles, Kidnapping, M/M, Mild Gore, Mysteries, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pack Feels, Protective Stiles, Sam Winchester Feels, Sorry Not Sorry, The Alpha Pack, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-22
Updated: 2013-07-26
Packaged: 2017-12-21 00:04:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 8,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/893468
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyIsabelleStark/pseuds/LadyIsabelleStark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles' car breaks down in a little coffee shop slightly out of town.<br/>He meets two brothers, Sam and Dean Winchester. </p><p>They are here to kill his pack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. black coffee and sarcastic remarks with the Winchester brothers

**Author's Note:**

> So yes, this is another crossover because I've just started Supernatural and I love, love, love it so much. 
> 
> And honestly, like who can watch Teen Wolf and SPN and not ship Sam and Stiles? Not me, I guess. 
> 
> Well, enjoy!

C'mon baby, please, not here, not here, Stiles pleaded silently as his car gave a final shudder and then completely shut down. He groaned and leaned his head down on the steering wheel, head pounding. He did not need this right now, especially with it pouring by the bucketful outside. 

He checked his phone- no signal, full battery, and then looked out the rain streaked windows. Great, just great, he thought. He was about 10 miles out from town, judging by the sign next to the highway, and the weather didn't seem to be letting up anytime soon, by the dark grey clouds above. 

Sighing and cursing out Scott for making him drive all the way out to god knows where to pick up some package for him, he got out of his beloved Jeep, running a hand over the dashboard lovingly. 

The rain began pelting him steadily as he squinted around, trying his best to see. Across the street was a light, a building, but he couldn't see the name. For lack of a better option, he ran towards it, splashing right through a huge puddle and soaking himself further. 

Upon further investigation, he saw people sitting at tables and by a large, warm looking fireplace. The name, apparently, was the Wicked Brewery, on the corner of 35th and Wolfe Avenue.

Wolfe Avenue, he scoffed to himself, making his way across the street quickly. Maybe it'll be a good omen. 

He tried his best to wring some of the water out of his thin plaid shirt and mess up his hair a little, but his reflection in the glass told him he still looked like the Stiles version of a drowned cat.

Pushing open the door with a weary sigh, a wave of warm air and the strong smell of coffee washed over him. He relaxed visibly, giving the place a once over. It was a comfy, homey looking joint, with bookshelves jammed carelessly with paperbacks, and overstuffed armchairs scattered around the fireplace. 

The people looked friendly and welcoming, and none of them looked like nasty supernatural creatures, which Stiles appreciated very much. 

Shivering a little bit, he rubbed his hands together and tried to act like he wasn't dripping all over the floor, which of course he was. He stepped up to the cashier, a pretty brunette girl about his age, who flashed him a sympathetic smile. "Hey there," she said easily. "What can I get for you?"

Stiles dug around in his pockets, scrounging up a soaking wet dollar and a moldy quarter. "Uh," he said, glancing up at the brightly colored menu. "I guess I'll just have a small cup of the dark roast." 

The girl, who's name tag said STEPHANIE, gave him a very bad version of a flirty wink, and spun around toward the coffee brewer. He leaned on the counter, looking around again at the people in the cafe. Thunder boomed and he could see the lightening strike every so often, and so most of the people had cleared out of the café. There were two guys, probably about twenty two years old, hunched together and talking rapidly. They sat right by the window, with no regard to the lightening or things happening around them. He happened to catch pieces of their conversation completely by accident, catching 'wolves' and 'bloody accident' and 'must be killed, no matter what, Sam'. The words filled Stiles with a cold dread, and he didn't hear the barista calling for him until she tapped his shoulder lightly. Distractedly, he grabbed the coffee and headed their direction, almost spilling the hot beverage all over himself. 

Of course, they could be national park rangers or something, but that would just be too good to be true in Stiles' life. 

"Hi," he said a bit awkwardly, and both of them turned to look at him. 

"Hello," said the older looking one slowly, looking him up and down carefully. "Who are you, and are you here to kill us?"

"Dean!" The other one, who looked similar to the other guy, but not quite identical, said with a shocked expression. 

"What?" He replied, looking from Sam (at least that's who Stiles thought it was) to Stiles without a trace of guilt. "Well, come on. Killers come in all shapes and sizes. Look at yourself."

Sam gaped at Dean, and Stiles could only assume they were brothers. Their bickering gave him a chance to really look at them, without them noticing. They both looked tired and beaten down, but they also had that strong, rugged, camper-like look to them. Sam had a smoothly innocent face, and dark hair that curled around his ears. Dean looked like the fighter out of both of them, the tough guy, with light brown spiky hair and intense eyes, which were gazing at Sam in a way that Stiles knew well- the way that said "don't trust this freak!" 

"I heard you talking about wolves," he said, trying to sound threatening but failing miserably. "I think we might have a problem." 

Sam opened his mouth to say something, but Dean interrupted first, raising one eyebrow suspiciously. "What if we're just park rangers?"

"The way you said that makes me guess that you're probably not," he swiftly replied, and they both grinned. 

He pulled a third chair up to the table and looked them both in the eye. "I'm Stiles Stilinski," he said, offering them a hand, which they shook suspiciously. "I know you don't know who I am, but-" 

"You don't want us messing with your wolves," Dean finished, ignoring the shock on Stiles' face. "I understand."

Stiles controlled his urge to gape slash jump these two guys so they couldn't get anywhere near the pack by just smiling in surprise. 

"But," he continued after a moment of silence. "We can't just have them mauling and killing people, either." 

~

Stiles' mind was running in a million different directions, thinking things like: have I heard of a Sam or Dean near Beacon Hills? (no), did Derek mention killing anyone lately? (no), and is my hair looking weird? (probably yes). 

"My wolves," he finally choked out. "Killing people." 

Sam and Dean shared a quick glance at the mention of "his wolves", and stared at him. 

God, did they like to stare. It was slightly unnerving. 

"You haven't heard? You seem to know a lot about them," Dean said, passing him a newspaper off the windowsill, Sam rolling his eyes at the good cop / bad cop routine. 

His eyes raked the front page, a large article explaining a increased amount of killings in the woods near the Beacon Hills Cemetery. 

"What my brother means," Sam said a bit softer then his brother, "is that we don't think this is a grizzly bear who's really hungry."

"It's usually not," Stiles agreed, taking a sip of his coffee, then trying not to spit it out, which Dean got pleasure out of. 

"Drink your coffee black often?" he said, a tiny smirk settling on his face, Stiles frowning at him. 

"You and Derek would get along great," he muttered, swallowing the coffee even if it was true: he drank his coffee with half milk and a ton of sugar. 

"I'm Sam Winchester," Sam interrupted them, glaring sharply at Dean, who just grinned back.  
"That's my asshole of a brother, Dean. We're... On a road trip."

At the mention of a road trip, he watched Dean's features harden slightly, then slip right back into easygoing immediately. Hmm, he noted. Interesting. 

He focused back on Sam, cocking his head slightly, giving him a stare to rival his brothers. "And what interest do you have in wolves and killings, not-a-park-ranger Sam Winchester?" 

"We think it's a rogue pack," he said quietly, gaze flicking around the shop. "Of werewolves."

~

"Interesting," Dean noted, still staring at Stiles like he was some  
strange creature. "No scoffing or eye rolling at the mention of werewolves. So, what are you, son-of-the-sheriff Stiles Stilinski? Wolf? Wolf slave, perhaps?" 

His gaze never wavered as he spoke, and Stiles fought not to blush at the mention of a "wolf slave," which made him think of Derek (totally coincidenally!), which made him blush because, well, Derek. 

"Neither," he said, feeling a bit like a lawyer in a courtroom, making his case. Sam seemed pretty nice, but Dean and his stares put Stiles on edge. 

Erica liked to call him the pack "pet", Scott called him the best friend, but really he was just the researcher, the human that didn't have super smarts like Lydia or mega awesome archery badassness like Allison. 

"I'm just around."

"Around," Dean repeated with a little nod, looking back out the window. "Say, Stiles, you wouldn't mind taking us to meet your pack, would you?" 

He made honest to god air quotes around your, and Stiles almost fell off the chair in shock. 

"Not if you're going to kill them," he said firmly, leaning back and crossing his arms in a way he hoped would seem a tiny bit powerful or something. 

"We're not going to kill them, Stiles," Sam said calmly, staring at his brother intently. "Correct, Dean?"

His gaze swept lazily over Stiles and landed on Sam before he answered "Sure. Why not, let's make promises we can't keep."

"I'm not taking you to them," Stiles said stubbornly, trying desperately to hold his ground. 

"Well, lets see," Dean said sarcastically, looking toward Stiles. "Your car is dead at least ten miles away from your town, it's raining, and-" 

"How did you know my car broke down?"

"For gods sake, you could hear it clunking and wheezing all the way down the street," he responded, which Stiles supposed was true. 

"Look," Sam said, looking at his phone. "It's getting late. We need to get moving, and so do you. You can drive us to Beacon Hills in our car, and you have my word we won't do anything until we talk to your pack with you."

Stiles was really beginning to like this guy, or maybe he just really disliked his brother, which forced him to like Sam. Whatever. 

"Fine," he said with a long sigh, heaving himself up out of the chair tiredly. Sam was right. It was late, and he was wet, and cold, and about to get into a car with two strange and threatening dudes. Wonderful. 

"I call shotgun!" Dean called with a devious smile plastered on his face as they neared the car, Stiles fighting the urge to groan. 

"Why the long face, buddy?" Dean said, hand on Stiles' shoulder suddenly. "Don't wanna sit by me?"

"I don't like sitting by him either," Sam said with a sympathetic smile, crawling into the backseat. 

Stiles remained quiet as he got into the front seat, Sam tossing him the keys lightly. 

He turned on the ignition, the engine purring to life along with the radio, blaring some pop song. 

"You a fan of One Direction, Dean?" he teased, glancing over at the other guy. 

"Uh huh," he said distractedly, tapping at his phone. "Harry's so hot."

He literally had to put a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing at that one. 

To keep himself occupied, he pulled out his cellphone and dialed Scott, who picked up on the first ring. "Dude, where are you?" he asked immediately. "You were supposed to be back like an hour ago!" 

"I got... Delayed," he said, trying to find the right words. At the mention of delayed, Dean called "You might wanna call him a toe truck!" as loud and annoyingly as he could. 

"A toe truck?" Scott's voice was serious now. "Stiles, are you okay?" 

"Yeah," he muttered, steering onto the highway. "I'm just fine." 

~ 

"Dad?" Stiles called into the house, pushing the front door open. Sam and Dean (and their small arsenal of weapons and normal person things, like toothbrushes) were right behind him, inspecting everything carefully. 

Stiles stepped inside and flicked the light on, noticing a note on the table.  
Working late tonight, it said. Will be back in the morning. Dad. 

"That certainly makes things easier," he said with surprise at his luck. "So. That just leaves, um, sleeping arrangements."

He tried really hard not to glance at Sam when he said that. He also tried really hard not to stammer. That didn't go too well. 

Wouldn't it be fucking hilarious to see Derek's face if he (and his bed) were covered in Sam's scent. That lead him to wondering what he smelled like, probably like musk and wood and leaves... 

He and Derek weren't a thing, but as Lydia so eloquently put it, they "had enough sexual tension to light a whole forest on fire. " 

Snap out of it, he yelled at himself, trying to focus. 

"You guys can sleep on the floor," he offered, motioning for them to follow him upstairs. "Or one of you can sleep in the closet, and one next to my bed, er, on the floor," he stuttered, going tomato red again. He pushed open the door to his room, glad he'd made an effort to clean it this week. 

"I'll sleep in the closet," Dean offered, looking closely at Sam, who was not so secretly staring at Stiles' bed. 

"Er, okay," Sam said, shaking off his trance and setting his stuff down on the floor. "Stiles, where's the bathroom?"

Stiles pointed out the door, grinning inwardly at the way he said his name. "Down the hall, second door on the left." 

Sam nodded, grabbed his toiletry bag, and headed down the hall, humming quietly. 

"You sooo have the hots for my brother," Dean noted with a straight face, startling Stiles out of watching Sam disappear down the hallway. 

"I met you two like an hour ago, in a café," he said, flopping down on his bed and realizing he was still damp. "I'm a bit more classy then that."

"Doesn't mean you can't think someone's hot," he countered steadily, looking away from Stiles for once. His face burned a little bit, thinking of the possibility that he was speaking about him, but he quickly brushed it away. People like Dean Winchester attracted beautiful girls, not hopelessly dorky guys like himself. 

There was a creaking by the door, and both their heads snapped up to see Sam standing sheepishly in the doorway, hair freshly combed and in a ratty Iron Man t-shirt and pajama pants. 

He likes Iron Man, Stiles realized. Please god, let us get married. 

He thought about changing right there, but then thought that Dean would probably get a little too much humor out of that, and decided otherwise. 

"I'm just, um," he said, standing and quickly adverting his eyes. "Gonna get dressed quick. Sam, you can sleep in my bed if you want," he said shyly, then realized what he said when Dean collapsed in laughter on the floor. 

"Shit," he said, with a short embarrassed laugh of his own. "I meant, without me in it." 

Sam's face was completely unreadable as he strode toward the bed and stopped short of climbing in. "The floor is fine," he said quietly, staring downward. 

"There's blankets and pillows in the closet," Stiles said, then got the hell out of there as quickly as he could. 

He came back to Dean passed out in the closet like a drunk (he repressed the urge to take a picture) and Sam, sitting up on the floor. 

"Can't sleep?" Stiles said, tiptoeing across the floor and taking a seat next to him. 

Sam's brown eyes looked far away and sad as he answered. "Usually can't. Nightmares."

Stiles nodded, knowing exactly how he felt. "Well, being the Scooby Doo monster hunters you are, I'm sure you have 'em," he joked. 

A pained look crossed his face, and Stiles knew he had said the wrong thing. He remained silent, not wanting to make the mistake again. 

"I've seen people die," he said solemnly, seriously, like it was an everyday thing. 

"Me too," Stiles echoed, and Sam looked over in surprise. "My mom." he explained, playing with the string on his shirt. 

"Same here," Sam replied, with a certain kind of sadness in his voice. It made Stiles want to hug the hell out of him until he smiled again. 

Surprisingly, he did, just a moment later. "I'm sorry," he said, shaking it off and rubbing his eyes. "Good night, Stiles."

As he watched him crawl underneath his blankets, on his floor, he almost forgot that he was there to kill his other family- his pack. 

~


	2. Derek Hale doesn't do "introductions"

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles wakes up the next morning with two demon hunters in his house, and things go awry from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to say a quick thank you to all the people who have been reading- 860+ views in a day? That's crazy, guys. Thank you so much, I hope this chapter is enjoyable for all of you!

"Who the fuck drew a mustache on my face?"

Stiles mumbled something unintelligible and rolled over, pressing his face into his pillow. He'd totally forgotten about the two demon hunter dudes stationed in his bedroom, passing out immediately from exhaustion last night. 

"What the hell," he muttered, still not sitting up, fighting the urge to pull the pillow over his head. 

"Wake up!" A pillow smacked him in the head, and he knew it could only belong to Dean Winchester. 

Growling and muttering like a typical teenager, he sat up slowly and blearily rubbed his eyes. In front of him, his alarm clock read 8:42 a.m. in big red numbers, and Sam and Dean looked chipper as ever. 

"You sure are a heavy sleeper," Dean said, pacing around his room. Immediately his hands flew up to his face, noticing the light marker lines below Dean's nose, and he barked out a laugh. 

"There's nothing there," Sam said lightly, and Stiles believed him. 

"Why did you get me up so early?" he moaned, stretching out the why obnoxiously. 

"Because," Dean announced, holding up another newspaper and flinging it toward him. "There's another person dead." 

Stiles barely caught it, still stuck in his sleep. He rubbed his eyes again, barely skimming the new article. Sure enough, someone died yet again of a "bear", the body left in the woods. 

With a long sigh, he fell back on the bed, arm over his eyes.  
"You must get up early," he said, trying to clear the morning roughness out of his voice. 

"Your dad leaves early," Dean said, and Stiles sat straight up. "Did you meet him?"

Dean's lips twitched slightly, a smile half on his face. "He thinks we're friends of yours, staying over for a few days. Summer and shit." 

Well, that was a relief. At least they could stay for a couple days without him getting suspicious. 

"We need to call a pack meeting," he said, reaching over for his phone. There were several messages, a few from each pack member. The most recent was from Scott, saying: "Derek knows there's 2 ppl with you, he's pissed. call me" 

That was enough to wake Stiles  
up, make him smile. 

"You look pleased."

Sam came and sat next to him on the bed, making it squeak under the new weight. He glanced over at Stiles' phone, smiling a little at the message. 

"He must be the alpha, right?" he asked, and Stiles nodded. "A damn possessive one."

Sam tilted his chin up a bit, eyes curious. "He won't be too happy to see us, will he?"

"No one is generally happy to see us, Sam," Dean said lightly, still looking through Stiles' things, his photos. "The spirit of death generally follows us around."

Both Sam and Stiles groaned at that, Stiles standing up and grabbing some clothes out of the dresser. "Give me a few minutes to get dressed and y'know, make Derek not want to kill me."

A few minutes later, freshly showered and dressed, he sent a group text to Allison, Lydia, Erica, Boyd, Isaac, Scott, and finally, Derek. 

They were going to meet at the Hale house, on the wolves turf. Stiles didn't tell them much, only that he had some people for them to meet. 

It was interesting, all of them replied, except for Derek. 

Yeah, whatever, he thought as he drove to his house. Maybe it'll be good for him to meet new people. 

"Holy shit," Sam breathed, and he watched Dean's eyes widen at the sight of the house in from of them. It surely was a sight to behold, all charred wood and broken windows.

"There's something you don't see everyday," Dean said, halfway out of the car before Stiles had even stopped. 

"Jesus christ," Stiles muttered, parking beside Scott's truck, watching Dean go into super detective mode. 

"Stiles!" 

His head snapped up to see Lydia teetering on some very high shoes, waving from the porch. 

"Hey, Lyds," he said slowly, Sam right behind him. Her eyes were large and inquisitive, a fake smile on her lips.  
"Who's that?" she asked, stepping carefully off the porch and down into the mud. "Lydia Martin," she said, extending a hand toward Dean. 

"Pleasure is mine, Lydia," he replied with that easy smile of his, shaking her hand lightly. "I'm Sam, and that's my brother Dean, but I'm sure Stiles will introduce us better, uh, inside." 

He was looking away from her now, staring with a slightly open mouth at something behind her. 

"Um, Derek," Stiles said slowly, walking toward the alpha, who was standing with his arms crossed on the porch, glaring daggers at Sam. "This is, er, Sam." 

He really, really needed to stop stuttering. 

"I noticed his scent," Derek said, his eyes flickering slightly, his posture clearly saying "stay away." "And I don't trust them."

"No, Derek, you've gotta-"

"No." The word was final, and he looked pretty menacing at that moment, pretty close to becoming the big red eyed alpha werewolf they knew him as. 

"Oh, Derek," Lydia said, cocking her head and standing next to him. Dean was wrapped around her arm, smugly grinning at Stiles, who huffed and crossed his arms. "I think they should stay."

He turned slowly, facing Lydia with that expression on his face, but she just smiled back. "Come on, Sam," he muttered, and he cautiously followed Stiles past Derek and into the house. He was, like most, shocked at the condition of the house, but he didn't ask, just stared. 

The pack was in the old living room, chatting quietly, but the room became silent when Stiles and the Winchester's walked into the room. Suddenly, he was faced with many sets of wolf eyes, and the question hung in the air: who the hell are these people?

"Sam and Dean, this is the Hale pack," he said quietly, staring each wolf (and occasional human) in the eyes. "Isaac, Scott, Allison, Lydia, Erica, Boyd, and..." His voice faltered at Derek, who didn't meet his eyes. 

"Guessing that's Derek," Dean said, breaking the tension and striding toward him, offering him a hand. 

Derek refused, standing completely still, looking wound tight. Stiles could tell, he'd seem that stress before in his dad. Derek's jaw was clenched tightly, his eyes bright, his chest rising and falling quickly. 

Dean sneered slightly at Derek, who didn't move a muscle as he sat down in a chair next to Scott. 

"I'm guessing your big bad wolf hasn't told you about the creature or creatures running around in the woods, has he."

That got Derek's attention, his eyes flicking toward Dean's, who grinned. "Mm, that looks like a no."  
Pulling a folder from his leather coat, he tossed toward Scott, who caught it and opened it. 

Newspaper clippings from the past few days spilled out, falling all over the floor, the other wolves going and picking them up. 

"There's another pack," Derek spit through gritted teeth, Dean nodding his approval. 

"Correct on that one, big guy. You're lucky Mr. Stilinski there found us when he did, otherwise you'd have had us trying to kill you."

Allison tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, examining them both quickly. She supposed they didn't look too suspicious, and Stiles looked pretty comfortable with them, but with the way he was hovering near Sam she figured that might be for different reasons. 

"What makes you think our pack isn't the one responsible?" She said sharply, watching them both for any signs of discomfort or doubt. There, in Dean's eyes, she saw just the smallest glimmer of doubt, and she sat back, lips pursed with distrust. 

"Miss Allison," Dean said, leaning forward past Scott, who kept looking between the two of them. "I can see the hilt of the knife in your boot, and I know you've got a quiver of arrows stashed in this room to kill anything that threatens you or your pack."

Allison wasn't a trained spy, but she was a trained Argent Hunter, and so she did not waver, staring back at Dean with the same heat with which he was looking at her. 

"To be honest, we don't know for sure that it's not your pack," he said, throwing his hands up and sitting back. "We've never really dealt with werewolves before."

"Pray tell," Lydia said then, eyebrows furrowed in deep thought. "What is it that you deal with, Sam and Dean?"

They both grinned, glancing at each other as Sam answered. "We're a bit like the supernatural police," he said. "We travel around killing pests and helping people." 

Allison had a feeling there was something more to that, watching Dean's face cloud over a bit at "helping people", but didn't say anything. 

"So what does this have to do with us? If there's another pack, wouldn't we know?"

The blonde kid, the frailer looking one presumably named Isaac gave Sam and Dean a questioning glance. 

"Your alpha knows," Dean said, nodding his chin toward Derek, who glowered. 

All of them turned to look at the Alpha, who had a look on his face like he was being backed into a corner. 

"Derek?" Erica snarled, eyes already going half gold. 

"Calm down," he growled in response. He took a deep breath, running a hand through his hair, clenching and unclenching his fists. 

"It's an alpha pack," he said finally, quieter then the pack had ever heard him speak. "I wanted to put it off so you all weren't all in danger."

There was a collective laugh as they all thought of Derek wanting to keep them out of danger. 

"We're fucking werewolves, Derek. We know better. And I know I'm not the only one who caught that little heartbeat skip when you lied."

Derek swallowed hard, suddenly looking very tired. "Fine," he snapped, his eyes turning a bright, fiery red. "You want to know?" 

Dean and Sam looked very concerned, Sam's hand on his hip, where Stiles presumed he had a gun. 

"The alpha pack is here to kill us," he hissed, with emphasis on the us. "Us. The pack. With you all being oblivious, it makes them think they can get by."

There was a relaxed smirk on Dean's face, Sam still nervously waiting near the door. "So, you got a plan then, big bad wolf?"  
There was a challenge in Dean's eyes, that much Stiles could tell, but there was also something else- this was a test. 

Stiles moved to say something, but Derek gave him a blistering glare that made him step back, trying to hide the hurt. 

The uncomfortable silence in the room made it clear that he didn't have one. 

"So you need us," Sam said softly, stepping into the room. "Look, I know you don't trust us, but-"

Erica let out a small laugh, looking up at Sam. "I'd say Derek there doesn't trust you," she said in that slow, deliberate way of hers. "Don't speak for the rest of us. I'd be willing to let you help us so we don't get killed, regardless of Derek's questionable motives."

Derek opened his mouth to defend his "motives," but the rest of the pack quickly shushed him, knowing it was true. 

"We need a plan," Dean repeated.  
"And we need one quickly, because I'm assuming the killings are just a warning, a preface of what's to come for all of you."

"I don't know you guys, either," Scott said, with a quick, unsure peek around to his pack. "But they're right. We do need help. And Sam and Dean seem like a damn good bet to get control of whatever's going on." 

They all nodded, even Derek, who was still making a point not to look at Stiles. 

"Then lets get to work."

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next up.. Action and fighting scenes! Woo!


	3. stiles is a badass and that is all.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title says it all, or:
> 
> Allison gets shit done and Stiles and Derek have a cat fight over a certain Winchester bro. 
> 
> Stiles isn't really cut out for relationships. Like in no way possible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I lied..   
> I promise less talking and more action next chapter. PROMISE. 
> 
> Also, I went from 860 views to 1,500 in a matter of hours. Holy shit, y'all rock. 
> 
> Comments are always welcome, they make my day!

Derek had stalked out of the room immediately as the pack started making plans, Stiles right on his heels. 

"Derek," he began, but stopped suddenly when he saw the expression on his face. 

His eyes were red, but there was more then that- there was a raw hurt there, maybe even a little bit of jealousy. His expression was tight, hardened, he was very clearly upset, but also trying to hold it in. 

"You like him," he rumbled, leaning on the table, his claws sinking into the soft wood of the table. 

"No, Derek," Stiles said quietly, stepping forward to get near him, try something, anything to make this stop. 

"Look at me and tell me that." Derek's eyes were intense and huge and focused right on Stiles, and he looked so, so, hostile right then and there it was actually scaring him. 

A slim smile spread across Derek's face, and he leaned across the table toward Stiles. "You can't," he breathed, and Stiles' heart just about hammered out of his chest. 

"What is it about him?" Derek asked sharply, standing up and extending to his full height, making Stiles feel small and insignificant, just a little human. 

"It's not, if you would just listen to me, please, I just-" he pleaded again, but Derek was having none of that, that same cool, calm smile on his face. The scary one he got when he was very, very pissed. 

"You can't hear it," he whispered roughly. "You don't know what it's like, your heartbeat accelerating every time you even /think/ he's going to get near you."

"Well, maybe it was just nice for once!" he yelled, finally able to let his feelings out, get out some pent up anger of his own. "Maybe just being with someone who's nice- who's not the king of fucking mixed signals!" 

Derek's eyes glinted dangerously, a poisonous grin on his face as he moved closer. He placed one clawed hand on Stiles shoulder and shoved him up against the wall, making Stiles squeak. "You want a signal?" snarled the alpha, fully shifted now. "Here's your big goddamn signal."

Stiles wondered dimly if Derek was listening to his heartbeat now, knew just how afraid he was feeling. Wondering if he knew in that moment all he wanted was for Sam Winchester to come barreling in though the kitchen-

"You're scaring him."

And like an angel (or just a hunter who had very good timing), there he was. 

He looked angry, half silhouetted by shadow, but what Stiles could see from around Derek was cold, glaring eyes, and a glinting silver knife. 

Derek turned around, still possessively placed in front of Stiles, but then...

Sam let the knife fly. 

It wasn't meant to hit Derek, but it was still a very well placed throw, one Allison would have approved of. Landing with a thunk directly above Derek's head, he looked up at it, and how deeply it was lodged into the wood. 

"Let that be a reminder of how not to take advantage of humans," Sam said in the single scariest voice Stiles had ever heard. His eyes shifted to Stiles and softened, motioning for him. "Come on, Stiles."

He was speechless, still looking at Derek's back, when the wolf turned around to look at him. He at least had the decency to look ashamed, shifting back to human, his blue eyes huge with guilt, finally realizing what he had done. "Oh my god, Stiles, no, please," he whispered hoarsely as Stiles slipped under his arm. In a last ditch attempt to get to him, he reached out and grabbed his wrist, those long, thin fingers of his curling around it. "Please."

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam shift into a defensive position, jaw clenched, making him smile slightly. 

He wrenched his arm away, fighting the urge to fling his hand at Derek's face and smack the shit out of him. 

"Fuck off," he said with a venomous smile of his own. "Wonder what I smell like now, scared and running off with the one thing you wanted me to stay away from."

Even though saying that and watching Derek flinch back was satisfying, it /hurt/. Badly. Even though Sam's hand on his elbow was steady and reassuring, there was still a guilt settling on his shoulders. He was massively conflicted, wanting to run back in and apologize to Derek, but also knowing that he didn't deserve shit from him, too. 

Sam knew from the way Stiles kept biting at his fingernails and glancing nervously at the kitchen that he wasn't going to be okay anytime soon. 

Stiles headed toward the living room, back towards the pack, but Sam shook his head slightly and nodded toward the back door. 

Stiles swallowed hard, and nodded once, following Sam out the door without a backward glance. 

He was suddenly really, really glad the brothers were here. 

~

"This," Stiles began, but couldn't find the right words. "This is bad. Shit. This is really bad, Sam." 

Sam was standing at least five feet away from him, staring off into the thick woods that surrounded the Hale house. 

"I'm sorry," he apologized, kicking at the grass with his shoe, a pair of ratty Converse. "I didn't mean to do that, I just- I don't know." 

Stiles really, really, reaally wanted to go over to him and be all "Dude, you totally just saved my ass and made me realize Derek is a complete dick, plus you're like totally cute," but of course, he didn't. 

He did, however, put a hand on Sam's shoulder and say "Dude, that was totally awesome. You totally just saved my ass."

Sam smiled a tiny bit at that, but still didn't look up. "It's no problem, kid."

Kid. 

The word bounced around in Stiles' skull for a little while before he was able to compute it and mutter, "Um, thanks," and head back inside, shoulders sagging with disappointment. 

~

It tore Sam up inside, it did, being so stupid and saving Stiles when he probably didn't even need saving at all, and then brushing it off like nothing at all. 

So stupid, he cursed at himself. He's seventeen! This is just another job that you're going to pack up and leave as soon as the Alpha's are taken care of. Nothing more. 

Ignoring the voices in his head, he turned back around with the false hope that Stiles would still be there, even if he had heard the door slam shut behind him. 

He wasn't there. 

~ 

Stiles attempted to swallow his nerves as he walked back into the living room, Derek standing stock still in the corner. He looked almost sickly- sweat dripping down his forehead, highlighting his cheekbones and reddened cheeks. His eyes burned brightly, and he didn't look mad as Stiles took a seat, only ashamed. 

The pack was looking around nervously, staring at Stiles (and Sam, who had appeared behind him a moment after he had sat down) with wide eyes. 

Dean looked shocked, staring incredulously at Sam and then down at Stiles, giving him the protective older brother stare down. 

Stiles raised an eyebrow and shrugged, feigning confusion. 

Dean cleared his throat lightly, cracking his knuckles. "Alright, now that that's over," he said, glaring at his brother in surprise. "We need to get under these Alpha people's skin. Find out things about them, but not let them know who we are."

"They're werewolves, they'll smell us," said Erica, the 'duh' apparent in her voice. 

Dean smiled frostily at her, not letting /her/ under his skin. "This pack contains humans, duh," he said sarcastically, and she flipped her hair over her shoulder with a sigh of annoyance. "So we send the humans in to do a bit of old school surveillance, y'know, and then they come back, all wonderfully full of information."

"Yeah, except not all of us are demon hunters or geniuses or arrow wielding badass chicks," Stiles said, leaning on the table, hand mostly covering his face. 

"You underestimate your strength," Derek rumbled, staring at Stiles truthfully, almost innocently. 

"Yeah, well I don't give a shit about your opinion, currently," he snapped back immediately, making Dean whistle appreciatively under his breath. 

Derek's jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring slightly, not looking at Stiles, but at Sam, who Stiles hoped was giving him a run for his money. 

"Enough with the relationship drama!" Allison bust out, startling of them. "Look, we get it- Derek, Stiles isn't your property, and Stiles, get your own emotional baggage shit together and decide if you think Derek's a douchebag or if you want to deal with it. But enough with the god damn drama. We need to fix this, or more people are going to die. To die. Understand?" 

Stiles had no clue how the hell Scott didn't whimper like a little puppy around Allison, like, all the time, because that girl was fierce as hell. If they all made it out of Beacon Hills after high school, he could definitely picture her as a Marine, except for the fact she didn't take orders very well. Maybe being a spy would be better for her. 

"Understood," Stiles croaked, feeling the blotchy blush creeping up his neck and onto his face. 

"Now, about this plan thing..." Scott said, and thus a plan hatched. 

~


	4. stiles can attempt to make plans, but fate always messes them up.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles goes to the café with Danny and his boyfriend Ethan, which sounds typical enough. 
> 
> He comes back sustaining more injuries then one ER waiting room and thinks about never going outside again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo, here it is everyone!  
> Chapter four! Yaaaay!  
> No, I didn't forget about this work, I would never. I promise. :)   
> And see? I even doubled my minimum word count as an extra bonus for all TWO THOUSAND amazing readers of mine!
> 
> Ladies and gentlemen, you have been warned- this chapter contains much violence and gore, and may make you pass out from feels. 
> 
> Sorry, not sorry. I promise hurt/comfort next chapter! ;)

\--  
"Wait," Stiles said suddenly, something coming back to him. "His tattoo... Danny. I remember!"

It was coming back in flashes now, and he knew exactly how to at least kind of infiltrate the alpha pack. 

Scott and the rest of the pack, brothers included, looked mighty confused, so he tried to hurriedly explain. 

"Ethan," Stiles said, and Derek flinched just like Stiles had hoped. It proved he was right. "Danny's boyfriend. He's huge, he's uncharacteristically gorgeous, and he also has a tattoo on his arm that looks similar to what I saw you doodling, Derek."

Derek's eyes simmered with sadness and anger, remembering exactly the moment Stiles saw him drawing. 

It made both of them uncomfortable, even the little mention of tattoos. It made Stiles think of the one time Derek let him get close enough to lightly trace his fingers over the one on his back, and Derek remembered how it felt...

Both of them unconsciously shook their heads, blushing furiously. 

"I have to offer to meet Danny," Stiles said firmly. "And it has to be alone. 

"Why alone?" Scott interrupted immediately, the beta's protective sense kicking in. 

"He's a werewolf, Scott," Lydia said with a eye roll. "He's going to be able to sense Stiles' nervousness anyway-and even if we sent someone we barely know, say, /Sam/, he would still sense the protectiveness coming off him. "

Stiles was biting his cheek not to glare daggers at Lydia /or/ turn around and look at Sam, who probably wanted to run out of the house screaming by now. 

"Fine then," Dean said, clapping his hands down on his knees. "Stiles, looks like you've got a lunch date." 

~

The jeep was in the shop, so Stiles showed up to the café where he met Sam and Dean in Scott's beat up truck. It was getting to be mid afternoon, and it was going to be one of those crappy weather days, he could tell. Fog had settled over the ground, giving everything a mysterious feel and settling a chill in the air. 

"Danny!" Stiles called as he jumped out of the truck. 

"Stiles!" he called back warmly, flashing him a grin. "It's good to see you, dude." 

"You too, man," he said, bravely taking a glance at Ethan, who was lightly holding hands with Danny. 

"Hi," Ethan said, half smiling and offering Stiles his not occupied hand. Stiles prayed his hand wasn't sweaty and took it, lightly shaking it. 

"Hope you're keeping Danny here out of trouble," Stiles said, stage winking at Danny as the three of them walked inside. 

The café was surprisingly full today, customers yakking away at tables and waitresses carrying trays full of steaming drinks all around. 

One of them almost knocked Stiles over as they stepped inside, jostling him into a stack of newspapers. 

"Oh, I'm sorry," she said smoothly, and Stiles looked up to tell her it was alright, but his mouth went completely dry when he saw her face, or more importantly her eyes. 

Bright, startlingly gold ones. Wolf ones. 

This was bad, really bad, super super bad, and Stiles needed to get out right the fuck now. 

But then he remembered how it felt to be treated as the lesser, the weakest link of the pack, and he straightened up, looked the girl right in the eye, and said "Oh, no worries. I'm klutzy myself," and then met Danny and Ethan at a corner booth in the back. 

He tried not to show how frazzled his nerves even as Ethan kept staring at him, only chiming in to Danny's chattering on when he had to. 

The waitress, the same one from before, brought their drinks over and set them down, striking up a conversation with Ethan immediately. As she sashayed away, their orders in hand, Stiles looked up at Ethan and asked, "So, you know her?"

Ethan fixed a steady gaze on Stiles and leaned back, slightly into Danny. "Who, Kali?"

Point one for Stiles-another name, another possible lead.   
"The waitress, yeah."

Ethan nodded carefully, his eyes glancing around the café quickly before coming back to Stiles. 

"I come here a lot, it's close to my town," Ethan answered. "So yeah. Kali and I are friends."

Danny kept looking between them anxiously, his brow creasing with worry. "I'm gonna, uh," Danny said. "Go use the bathroom real quick. BRB."

He took one last look at the two boys, who both had intense eyes locked on each other, and then shook his head, heading off in search of the bathroom. 

"Well, well, Stiles," Ethan said with a smug look plastered all over his face. "It's about time we met again, isn't it?"

He swallowed nervously, trying to control his heartbeat, but knowing it was useless. 

"Why don't you and I go have a chat?" he continued, a completely mundane expression on his face. 

"Yeah, right," Stiles laughed, and Ethan made eye contact with Kali from across the room, giving her one swift nod. 

Carefully dropping the tray she was carrying, she walked surely toward the mens bathroom, striding right inside without a second glance back. 

Stiles made a move to get out of the booth, but then felt something cold and hard press up against his leg. 

A knife. 

He took one calming breath and squeezed his eyes shut for a moment, unable to believe he'd let himself (and Danny!) walk right into a trap. 

"Let's go talk, buddy," Stiles said, a look of finality in his eyes. 

"I'm so glad you agreed."

Ethan slid out of the booth, hopping down some steps and out the back maintenance entrance. 

Every nerve in his body was shaking, he was sweating uncontrollably as he prayed that wherever the alphas took them, his pack would be able to find him. 

"Nighty night, Stiles," whispered a female voice, and before he could even turn around there was a sharp prick on the back of his neck. The last thing he remembered before everything disappeared was the feeling of sharp gravel underneath his palms and the blurry face of Kali smirking down upon him. 

Then it was blissfully dark. 

~

He awoke fully the first time, babbling like crazy. It was like he couldn't stop the flow of words coming out of his mouth no matter what he did, no matter how hard he bit his tongue.

Now, as he came to, he recognized the taste of apples and almonds in his mouth. Strange, yes, but helpful as well. His movie watching history told him that the taste was sodium pentathol, otherwise known as truth serum. 

His head was pounding like no other, and he realized that he was bound quite tightly to a wooden chair with thick rope bonds. They cut deeply into his wrists, and judging by the warm feeling dripping down his fingers, he guessed they were bleeding as well. 

As if that wasn't bad enough, his face felt like it was on fire. He wasn't gagged, so he could look down and see the dark wetness spreading into his shirt. Gently, he licked his chapped lips, the taste of iron immediately filling his mouth. 

Split lip: check.   
Judging by the fact he couldn't see too well out of his left eye, black eye: check. 

He couldn't remember what had happened before the got him with the needle outside of the restaurant too clearly, but he could piece together enough.

There had been pain. Lots and lots of pain. After they had pricked him in the neck, Kali sent him flying into the rocks with a swift kick to the ribs, and it only got worse from there. He struggled and fought, but his muscles (if you called them that) were no match for two werewolves. 

They'd beaten him up badly, cackling and laughing the whole time, until the pain was making him fall in and out of consciousness. 

"Bet you wish your alpha was here now, don't you?"

"Aw, poor baby. Do your ribs hurt? Here, let me give you something else to focus on."

He remembered a truck, a large one. A semi, white, unmarked. They threw him inside and slammed the door shut, laughing from behind it as he moaned from the tendrils of fear and hurt snaking into his skull as he hit the bottom of the trailer hard. He was out for the whole trip, only coming back when they threw him into the chair, tied him up, and waited for him to begin speaking. 

At first, he attempted to fight the drug and the haziness it caused, but eventually after more punches to the stomach and many cracks across his cheek, he relented, and information spewed from his lips. 

It was not a good feeling, being a traitor and being helpless to fight it. 

Stupid, stupid, he chanted to himself, as if Ethan hadn't been calling him that enough, along with a slew of other things. 

"You're awake again, good," Ethan's voice said from the darkness, someone flicking on a light, one bare lightbulb hanging from the ceiling. 

It was very kidnapper-movie esque, he would give them credit for that. What he could see out of his good eye was a bare basement, and not much else. It looked typical, just like one you might find at Scott's house or your local friendly Alpha pack's house. 

He dragged a chair across the concrete, the excruciating noise making Stiles head throb and his pain index skyrocket to the max, feeling like his entire body was on fire. 

"I see Kali gave you something to remember us by?" Ethan said, settling himself in the chair directly in front of Stiles. 

Oh, yeah. There was that too, lest he forget. 

Kali had taken a small, delicate knife and gently drawn the symbol of the alpha pack into Stiles clammy cheek. While he was awake.   
He could feel it pulsing now, still dripping little rivulets of blood down his neck and soaking into his shirt. Lovely. Just lovely. 

"Won't that be a spectacular reminder to your Alpha lover when he caresses your cheek." Ethan stated, arms crossed. Stiles did his best not to react, but knew the werewolf could smell the hatred and surprise coming off of him. 

He let out a barking laugh, shoulders shaking like the bloody teenager in front of him was the funniest thing he'd ever seen. 

"Don't be so surprised," he said. "Between all the pack secrets you let out, all you kept blabbering was "Derek's gonna find me," "Derek is sooo gonna kick your ass when I get out of here," blah, blah. But, it seems that you denied him, didn't you?"

Shame spread through him, his face heating up as he didn't speak, remembering what had happened. 

"Aww, poor baby," Ethan crooned, a faking a sad face. "Derek's got no use for you anymore, does he."

Stiles swallowed the lump quickly forming in his throat, willing himself to look away from Ethan and focus on something else. He settled on focusing on his wounds, which occupied him for a while before Ethan glanced worriedly at the door. 

"Let me tell you something, human," he hissed, dragging the chair so close to Stiles their knees were practically touching.   
"Look at me!"

The shout jarred Stiles and made his injuries scream, but defiantly he refused to look up. Ethan grabbed his chin and yanked it up, clenching it tightly within his grasp. 

"Your pack is on their way here right now," Ethan growled through gritted teeth, gold eyes looking right at Stiles, who flooded with relief. "They might kill us. In fact, I know they will. But they will not kill our master, and they will not kill what's coming."

He looked again at the door, and Stiles didn't need werewolf senses to know Ethan could hear his pack outside.

"In fact, little human," Ethan said, his lips contorting into a evil smile. "What's coming is a thousand times more powerful then us."

He leaned toward Stiles ear and whispered "And those wolves you so love? They'll only be the first to be killed. Then your father, then perhaps your best friends mother, then-"

"GET THE FUCKING HELL AWAY FROM HIM!"

And then, the whole world went to hell. 

~

Stiles listened as the door came down with a crack, shedding more light into the room. Derek came flying down the stairs in a single leap, the rest of the pack plus the Winchester's right behind him. 

He watched as Ethan surrendered without a fight to Derek, watched as Derek's claws ripped at his skin mercilessly, more blood dripping all over the floor. 

"Derek," Stiles croaked, beginning to feel woozy and nauseous all at once, almost positive Kali had drugged his Coke with a late acting drug. "Jesus, dude, could you no-" 

Derek stopped to look at him, letting the body fall to the ground. His hands, shirt, everything, were streaked with red, even his eyes, as he stilled completely. 

"Stiles," he whispered. "Oh, god."

~

He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting as he psyched himself up to enter the base of the Alpha pack. The GPS tracker Scott had so cleverly inserted into Stiles' phone had showed movement within 10 minutes of them arriving at the café (ten minutes!) but soon after it stopped moving someone found and disabled it, rendering it untracable. They leapt into action immediately, finding the house in a deserted subdivision about 10 miles away from the café. 

And now, here they were. 

Slowly, ever so slowly, he moved toward Stiles, who flinched when he saw him come toward him fully shifted. 

Trying to calm the anger raging inside of him, Derek became human again, creeping forward still. He heard the teenagers heartbeat spike again, the scent of worry and shame coming off so strongly it was almost choking.   
"I'm not so sure that's a good idea," Dean said, emerging from the shadows. "Look at him. He's a mess. He's terrified. Let Sam do it."

"Sam," Derek growled, eyes narrowing into slits as the young hunter stepped forward. He attempted to ignore the fact that Stiles' heart was racing, even though it was probably more from trauma more then anything else. 

Probably. Right?

~

"Hey, Stiles," Sam said, taking cautious steps toward him. He still hadn't spoken a word after he said Derek's name, and Sam guessed he wouldn't be saying much anytime soon. 

"Saaaam," he said, a stupid smile on his face, head lolling back against the chair. "Saaam, you're cute."

Drugs, he thought, trying not to blush. Had to be. He dug a pocketknife out of his pocket, the blade catching the light and shining brightly for a moment. 

"Oh god no please," Stiles rambled all in one sentence. "God Sam no, not you too, oh god please no not my face, not again." 

He quickly snapped the bonds on Stiles legs, trying to ignore the pitiful words coming out of his mouth. 

And then he saw the mark on his cheek, and just about burst into tears himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm.. I smell a Dean/Derek Derek/Stiles Stiles/Sam love square here. Mwahahah. Until next time, thanks for reading!
> 
> Remember to comment if you liked or didn't, I love reading comments! :)

**Author's Note:**

> P.S. only the backstory of the boys counts. This doesn't take place at a certain time in the seasons, so no worries!


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